The Blood Is Love
by Euphyrosine
Summary: Dean's back from hell, but there's something not quite right with Sam, and it involves Ruby. Demon blood, repressed feelings, and an awkward boner.


Everything's different when Dean gets back from hell.

Everything.

He notices right away that something isn't right with Sam. He's different, but in a very subtle way. Dean doubts anyone else would have noticed the changes. It's only because he's been in hell all this time that he sees what no one else can. Sam will barely meet his gaze anymore, and when he does, Dean can sense there's something buried deep. Something he's deliberately hiding.

Dean trusts his gut, but the irony still hits him like a ton of bricks. Is he reaching too hard for a distraction from the things he's seen and done on the rack? The old _something's-wrong-with-Sam_ dilemma does serve as a perfect little mystery to keep his mind occupied. Maybe it's just his sense of self-preservation trying to give him something tangible to focus on; something to keep him sane in the aftermath of 40 years in hell.

He decides to keep his suspicions to himself for the time being. After all, while Dean's been on the rack, Sam's been alone and in mourning. That's more than enough to change a person, even a person as strong as his brother.

Throwing himself back into hunting serves as adequate distraction for Dean anyway. Not that hell doesn't seep its way into his thoughts and dreams whenever the opportunity presents itself. But this isn't Dean's first rodeo; he's good at repressing painful memories. He's all but glued to a bottle of whisky between cases these days, sometimes more frequently than that. And Sam, despite Dean's best efforts, is still distant.

Then, Dean finds out his brother has been spending time with Ruby, and the distance between them starts to make sense. A small part of Dean remains haunted by John's warning about killing Sam should the evil inside of him take over. It lingers in the back of his mind every time he watches Sam take down a monster. Even now, he always keeps close watch, making sure Sam's acting rationally, that he's not enjoying the the kill in ways a hunter shouldn't. But that was all just a safety net. Dean never imagined his brother would actually let himself slip...

Sam's powers are strong, and it scares Dean to think that John may have been right. Dean doesn't trust Ruby—could _never_ trust a demon—but Sam's wrapped around her finger, meaning he can't kill her without driving an even larger wedge between the two of them. Sam spends a lot lot of time alone with her. _Training_, he claims. Dean knows there's more to it than that. He sees a hunger flicker in Sam's eyes when he looks at Ruby; something raw and demanding, like Sam's starving for her touch.

It makes Dean sick.

At first, Dean tries to reason with his brother; tells him that Ruby is poison, that she can't be trusted, that whatever they're doing together needs to stop. But Sam isn't listening. He's hooked. And while Dean knows the feeling, he can't and won't sympathize, because despite all the sexual partners he's had, a demon has never been among them. He knows better than that, and so should Sam.

Dean bristles whenever Ruby's nearby. She makes a habit of teasing him about it, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to kill her every time they're in the same room. All he can see is red, all he can hear is the sound of his own blood rushing in his head. It's making him a kind of crazy that not even a bottle of whisky can keep at bay.

It's one day in particular, when Ruby swings by their motel room to pick Sam up, that changes things. She's leaning in the open doorway, waiting for Sam to grab his coat. Dean's eating leftover Chinese, trying his damnedest to ignore the weighted gaze boring into the side of his head. He makes the mistake of looking up, of meeting Ruby's eyes. Her expression is smug, there's laughter on her face. Everything about the look screams _I've won_. And right then and there, Dean snaps.

He kicks back his chair and storms toward the doorway like a bat out of hell. His hand dives into his pocket, grasps the handle of Ruby's own demon-killing knife, and yanks it out. He wants her to see it and to realize her own stupidity before he kills her with it.

But Sam's far too alert not to notice the older Winchester's intent. "Whoa, whoa—what the hell, Dean?" he says, jumping into his brother's path.

Ruby hasn't moved, but the amusement gleaming in her eyes only infuriates Dean more.

"Tell me she's on our side one more time and I'm knocking you on your ass," Dean growls. "I've let this go on long enough."

"You've _let_ this go on?" Sam lets out an exasperated breath like he's dealing with an unruly toddler. "Unbelievable. It's not your call to make, Dean. I'm doing this to defeat Lilith, remember?"

Dean shakes his head angrily. "Yeah, and how exactly is sneaking off to fuck this demon trash every night helping us defeat Lilith?"

Before Sam can reply, the sound of Ruby's laughter echoes through the room. It's a cold sound that makes Dean want to shiver. She steps around the younger Winchester, who's still shielding her with his tall frame. "Am I hearing this right?" Her tone is amazed, and she looks to Sam. "He really doesn't know about the blood?"

Dean frowns. He doesn't like the sound of that. "What blood?" he asks.

Sam's face has gone from pink and slightly flushed to ashen and pale in record time. "Ruby..." he says quietly; and it almost sounds like he's pleading with her.

"What? He's gotta find out sooner or later. Can't shelter the poor kid forever," she says with a predatory gleam in her eyes, aiming it straight at Dean. "Weren't you the least bit curious how Sam got the juice for all his awesome new powers? Surely you didn't think that dribble of demon blood Azazel gave him as a baby was enough?" She raised a questioning eyebrow that Dean promptly ignored. "FYI, exorcising demons with only your mind takes a healthy regimen of demon blood. _My _blood, actually."

Dean's speechless. He searches his brother's face, waiting for Sam to explain this to him. When no such explanation arrives, he asks, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I know you don't like it, but this is the only way I'll be strong enough to defeat Lilith," Sam pleads. "I'm telling you, it's a means to an end."

Dean can hear the sincerity in his brother's voice—see it plain as day in Sam's eyes—but it still doesn't lessen the blow.

"You should really see him running at full power. It's a thing of beauty," Ruby chimes in. "He's powerful."

"You are some kind of twisted," Dean tells her, and it feels good shifting the blame onto the demon. It's much easier to blame Ruby than to look too closely at the reasons why his brother's been doing this. He trusts Sam's desire to kill Lilith, to be a good hunter, to do the right thing, but that's not the only force at play. Sam said it himself—the demon blood Azazel gave him is what _made_ him a 'freak' as he put it. Dean can't imagine how drinking more of the stuff could ever lead to anything good.

Ruby shrugs. "Blame me all you want. I'll be the scapegoat if that makes you feel better. But killing me will only hurt Sam. He _needs_ my blood. Going cold turkey would kill him now."

Dean can't help but wonder how much of that was on purpose. "Is that your plan?" he asks her. "Use Sam for whatever your angle in all of this is and then disappear so the withdrawal kills him?"

"Ouch. Is that really the kind of girl you think I am?" Her tone is mocking.

Dean grips the handle of the demon knife tighter. "Get out."

"Dean..." Sam is looking at him sheepishly. "I'm going with her."

"To drink her blood? Yeah, I don't think so."

"Look, I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you about it, but this is why." There's a sadness in his eyes that pains Dean. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

He's right about that. Dean doesn't understand. Then again, he's not the one that was fed demon blood as a baby. There's a lot more to this than Sam will ever let on.

"You know, Dad would have killed her the second she set foot in this room," Dean says. "He'd never let you do this to yourself."

Sam rolls his eyes, apparently not surprised that Dean's decided to bring up their father in the midst of all this. "Just let us go, okay? I won't be long." He moves toward the doorway.

Dean steps in front of him, blocking the exit. "She's free to leave," he tells them, "but you're staying."

"Fine, keep him prisoner," says Ruby. "But Sam's getting his blood. So unless you want to watch..."

It takes Dean a moment to process what she's just said. The outrage is written all over his face. "No fucking way."

"If he doesn't get some now he's going to start withdrawing. I know you don't want him to die, so just let me do this." Her eyes flicker toward the demon knife still in Dean's hand.

It becomes apparent to everyone in the room that Dean won't allow what Ruby's suggesting. Her twisted logic makes him as sick as the thought of witnessing Sam drink her blood.

"You're making me do this the hard way, Dean," she says, and with the flick of her wrist, flings him across the room into an empty armchair.

"Ruby!" Sam yells.

The demon's powers have Dean cemented to the chair, unable to move. He's been in this exact situation more times than he can count; there's no struggling, no squirming free. The only escape is if Ruby lets him go, or if she dies, and Dean wants nothing more than to hand-deliver the latter.

"I'm not hurting him, just keeping him in one place. I don't trust him not to stab me in the back the first chance he gets."

Dean only wishes he could. Somewhere between the doorway and the armchair, he lost the knife.

Sam, meanwhile, is tense, torn between his brother and the demon blood he needs. Ruby sees his indecision and takes a few steps toward him.

"Maybe watching this will do him some good," she suggests. Her tone is strangely soft and nurturing; her entire focus is on Sam. "He needs to realize there's nothing sinister about giving yourself an edge. It might help him understand." The way she turns into a different person—someone almost _human—_around Sam explains a lot. At least Dean knows why Sam fell so hard for this.

A long moment passes in which Sam glances between Ruby and his brother several times. "Okay," he says, finally giving in. "Just enough to get me through the week."

"As you wish," she says with a smile.

They relocate to the couch near where Dean is imprisoned on the armchair. Knowing Ruby, it's probably to give him the best possible view. She's most certainly getting off on the fact that Dean is being made to watch this act, even if Sam's too blinded to notice.

Ruby yanks off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt with her forearms exposed. She reaches for something in her boot—a small knife, the sight of which makes Dean tense.

"Blood, remember? Bleeding _is_ required," she tells the elder Winchester, who rolls his eyes.

Sam's sitting next to Ruby on the sofa, looking almost as tense as his brother, but for different reasons. He's about to feed his addiction. And now that Dean thinks about it, Sam hasn't really been himself the past couple of days. He'd been pale and tired all the time; Dean had wondered if he was getting sick. He realizes now those must have been the first of many withdrawal symptoms.

Not exactly the most reassuring thought to have in mind with Sam about to feed from Ruby right in front of him.

As the other two watch on, Ruby drags the blade of the knife across the inside of her forearm, just enough to get a steady drip of blood flowing. Then she extends it toward Sam. He hesitates and glances at Dean.

"You don't need that shit, Sammy," he says, knowing that Sam will drink the blood anyway but hoping against hope that he won't.

Sam grasps Ruby's arm and places his lips to the wound. His eyes immediately fall shut and a chill runs up Dean's spine. Ruby's eyes immediately turn black, and there's a look of ecstasy on her face that shocks Dean. He realizes with horror that, given their responses, they probably do this during sex. Sam's free hand is gripping Ruby's knee tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. He's breathing heavily and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat every time he swallows a mouthful of the blood.

Dean begins to feel strangely light-headed. Maybe it's just the shock of what he's witnessing, but he's also angry. He fixates on where his brother is touching Ruby, notices every movement, every breath Sam takes. Feels the anger well up inside of him.

It's another few moments before Sam can pull himself away from Ruby's arm. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils black and dilated nearly to the extent of a demon's. His lips are smeared with blood, and there's a trickle dripping down his chin. He glances toward Dean. Their gazes meet.

"You have no idea what it feels like, Dean," he says. It's nothing more than a throaty whisper. And in all the years they've spent together Dean has never heard Sam's voice sound like _that_. It's low and yearning and sends a whole different kind of chill up Dean's spine. It's a moment before he can tear himself away from the look of rapture in his brother's eyes.

Dean realizes a second too late that Ruby is scrutinizing him a bit too closely.

"You're looking awfully flushed." She disentangles herself from Sam and walks over to the armchair. She's right; Dean's face is hot, he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. He follows Ruby's gaze right down to his crotch, at which point he notices what's got her so excited.

_His_ excitement.

The floor drops right out from under him in that brief window between Ruby noticing he's hard and sharing that information with Sam.

"What a surprise," she says, her tone almost jovial. She's got Sam's attention now, and he's about to look over, and Dean wants to die. "Maybe he's not as oblivious as he looks..."

Sam doesn't react the way Dean expects. He's anticipating righteous indignation, or at the very least an awkward joke to change the subject, but Sam's not exactly himself. His pupils are still dilated and he's clearly riding some kind of high. Just another thing Dean doesn't understand about this whole fucked-up situation.

"I wish you could know how this feels," Sam tells him in a syrupy tone. He's slumped bonelessly on the couch, revelling in the feelings flowing through his body.

Ruby cracks a knowing smirk."Best medicine in the world." Her eyes are still fixed on Dean, watching him closely.

Sam, on the other hand, is too preoccupied to acknowledge just _how_ painfully hard his brother is. And that's a small mercy in itself, because Dean's embarrassment is already through the roof. But he knows that when Sam comes down from whatever high he's experiencing, he'll remember this through the haze and probably want to talk about it.

"Let me go," Dean demands, glaring daggers at the demon. "He's got his blood, now leave us alone."

Ruby takes a step toward Dean, leans down close to his ear. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I left the two of you alone. In Sam's current state, you could probably do whatever you want to him."

"Fuck you," Dean growls. He's not even going to touch that subject.

"You know, Sam was heartbroken without you. All he did while you were in hell was search tirelessly for a way to bring you back. And when he realized he couldn't, he was a wreck. He needs you, Dean. In more ways than he'll ever have the courage to admit, which is why I'm telling you this."

The elder Winchester frowns. "Why should I believe you?"

Ruby just shrugs. "Even when I'm alone with him you're all he ever talks about. God, you really _are_ oblivious," she says with a laugh. "Look, I'm not exactly his first choice, big brother. He's been sleeping with me because he can't have you."

"You're lying," Dean says, for lack of an intelligent retort.

"I'm trying to help you pull your head out of your ass."

"You really wanna help? Then get the hell out of here."

To his surprise, Ruby finally releases her hold on him. "Fine," she says, throwing her hands up in the air. She crosses the motel room and shuts the door on her way out.

As soon as they're alone, Dean immediately hurries over to the couch and grasps Sam by the shoulder.

"Sammy, talk to me," he says. "Are you okay?"

After a few moments, Sam becomes much more lucid. He nods, trying to wipe away the blood smeared down his chin but there's too much for the back of his hand to clean up.

Dean watches in silence as his brother rises from the sofa and heads for the bathroom. He hears the faucet run, can tell Sam's washing up. He finds it odd that Sam hasn't denied anything Ruby said, and Dean knows he heard every word. Which either means that Sam doesn't want to talk about it, or it's all true.

Dean can't stand it. He has to know for sure.

He waits until he hears the faucet shut off. When Sam exits the bathroom, Dean's right there, stepping toward him, invading his brother's personal space. Startled, Sam inches backward and bumps into the wall behind him. Aside from a surprised grunt, he's uncharacteristically quiet, but the look in his eyes says everything his lips won't. He's anxious. The high is long gone, replaced instead by a sudden shattering vulnerability that Dean hasn't seen on his brother's face since they were kids.

"Sammy?" he says gently. Sam turns away, won't meet his brother's gaze. He's embarrassed. But then again, so is Dean. "Come on, look at me."

He does, but this time, the vulnerability has turned to fear, and Sam says, "I'm sorry... about Ruby, I mean. I had no idea she was going to do that."

"Which part; holding me captive, or the confessions?" Dean asks.

Sam turns as red as his brother had been several minutes earlier. It's a full, warm flush that creeps all the way up his neck and he can't hide it from Dean.

"Is it true?" the elder Winchester asks. There's no way Sam can lie to his face about something like this. "She sounded pretty damn sure, and you _have_ spent a lot of time with her this past year..."

They're still standing quite close to one another—less than a foot apart—and Dean's noticing the tiniest details about his brother's face, like how long Sam's eyelashes are and how inviting that hot pink flush gracing his cheeks is becoming.

Rather than deflating Sam's confidence, the closeness seems to have bolstered it. "It's been true since the night you showed up at Stanford," he reveals, carefully holding his brother's gaze.

And if that isn't a bombshell, Dean doesn't know what is.

"Since _Stanford_?" he asks in disbelief. "That's a hell of a long time to keep this all to yourself, Sammy." _And I'm a hypocrite,_ Dean tells himself before promptly brushing away the thought.

"Our lives have been complicated enough without adding something like this into the mix," Sam explains. "Plus, I had no idea how you'd react..." Dean can tell his brother's still waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for Dean to work through the initial shock and get angry or even righteous with him.

"I'm not going to get angry, Sammy, if that's what you're expecting." In fact, the one emotion Dean feels more than any other is desire.

It doesn't take much for Dean to close the distance between them and touch his lips to Sam's.

He's gentle at first, hasn't done this with a man in a long time; never with one he cared about the way he cares about Sam.

He's anticipating the jolt of surprise that runs through his little brother. It really does seem like Sam expected anger or outrage; anything but the easy acceptance and compliance he's currently receiving.

When Sam does kiss him back, it's tentative. He's testing the waters, and Dean understands. But it doesn't take long before Sam opens his mouth, pliant and warm, letting Dean slip his tongue inside. At that point, Dean steps further into his brother, pinning Sam's back snugly against the wall.

The way their tongues dance, and feeling the warmth of Sam's body against his; it's enough to get Dean even harder than before. After all, it's just him and Sammy now, like it's always been. Like it always will be.

Dean's imagined scenarios like this before. They began to manifest around the time he scooped Sam up from Stanford. Before then, he'd never had an inappropriate thought about his brother. He assumes it was their reunion; it sparked things in him that Dean was unable to ignore. It was also Jess, if Dean really wants to be honest with himself. Seeing Sam happy and settled down was the first time he'd ever felt jealousy like that. But as time went on, Dean was careful to store those thoughts away in a part of his mind that was strictly off-limits. And he'd done a pretty good job of it, until now.

Sam breaks the kiss and locks eyes with Dean. "Tell me this is real, and I'm not still sitting on that couch drinking Ruby's blood."

With a smirk, Dean decides to simply show him instead. He touches his hand to Sam's stomach, drags his open palm down to his brother's waistline and none-too-gently yanks Sam's belt open. He can feel the strain beneath the fabric there, wastes no time unzipping Sam's fly to get his hands on it.

The moment he touches Sam's cock, Dean is truly convinced of how long his brother has been wanting this. He's impossibly hard; feels enormous in Dean's hand. Four years worth of longing is an awfully long time, for both of them.

"Is this real enough for you, Sammy?" he asks in a playful tone. He curls his palm around the tip, watches the way Sam exhales sharply and throws his head back against the wall.

Sam's at a loss for words, now that Dean's begun stroking and teasing him, and that suits his brother just fine. Dean's drinking in the heave of Sam's chest, listening to every strained breath, every moan. They're pouring out of Sam's mouth, increasing in frequency, the longer Dean continues touching him.

Soon the wall isn't offering the comfort they're looking for anymore and Sam inches his brother out of the short hallway, pushing him down onto the closer of the two beds. As soon as Dean's back hits the mattress Sam is straddling his thighs, yanking his own shirt off, then pulling Dean's up and over his head.

It's Sam's turn to run his hands over Dean's chest, down his stomach, and over the tent in his jeans. The warmth of Sam's hand when it brushes Dean's cock, even through two layers of fabric, is exquisite.

"I want your mouth, Sammy," Dean growls, low in his throat. It's a scenario he used to fantasize about more than any other, something that always worked him up no matter how he imagined it. And he wants it more than anything now.

Sam doesn't misinterpret his words; he knows exactly what Dean means. He backs up, crawls down the bed to bring his face even with his brother's crotch. The hunger in Sam's eyes now makes the expression Dean saw on his face earlier pale in comparison.

Sam takes his time working open Dean's fly and extracting the man's cock. He's purposefully teasing him and Dean can't stand it. He props himself up on his elbows and glares at the younger Winchester.

"Stop teasing and suck me."

Sam grins. He's enjoying having Dean at his mercy. "Say please."

"Shit..." He trails off when Sam begins stroking him slowly.

"Come on, Dean," he encourages. "Say it for me."

Dean bucks his hips into the touch, unable to deny his brother anything, especially now. "Please Sammy," he whimpers.

Sam happily obliges this request, taking the tip of Dean's cock past his lips and into his warm, wet mouth. With the first few swipes of Sam's tongue, he's already embarrassingly close, but when Sam really gets down to it, sucking and bobbing his head up and down on Dean's cock, he knows he won't last much longer.

Dean's hands tangle in his brother's hair. "Fuck, Sammy," he moans, watching the expertise with which his brother sucks him off. "So good at this..."

He doesn't break pace for anything, and Dean comes quicker than he'd hoped, spilling right into Sam's mouth with a hoarse cry. Sam swallows what he can. The rest trickles down his chin in a display mirroring his earlier one with Ruby's blood. Dean's eyes are glued to Sam's face as he licks away the remnants of his brother's pleasure. His eyes are alight with desire. Dean can see his cock poking out of his open fly, dripping precum.

"Come here," he beckons, as Sam climbs up his body so their faces meet once more. When Dean kisses him, he can taste himself. He reaches down and curls his palm around Sam's arousal, determined to bring his brother to the same place he's just been.

Sam buries his head in the crook of Dean's shoulder while he's being stroked, but he can't quite clamp down on the string of moans that escape him. Dean doesn't want him to. He likes hearing Sam's pleasure—likes it even more when he's the source of it.

Sam doesn't need much to get him off. He's not far behind Dean. The whimpering moan is signal enough, as is the spasm that racks his body when he comes into Dean's hand and across his chest.

With his free hand, Dean pushes back the soft brown locks that have flopped into Sam's eyes during the action. "You okay?" he asks.

Sam nods. "I guess I owe Ruby a thank you," he says with a small laugh. "I might never have found the courage to tell you."

Dean hates the thought of thanking a demon, especially Ruby, but he's wont to agree with his brother on this one, considering the outcome. "Not killing her is thanks enough," he replies, only half-joking. "Still, if I'd known back then... I would've taken you out to the Impala and done this that night at Stanford. If you'd let me, that is," Dean tells him, watching Sam's eyes glaze over at the thought.

"I would've let you, Dean."

That's the cruelest part of all. But Dean reminds himself not to get lost in what could've been. For once, he's looking forward to the future.

Everything _is _different when Dean gets back from hell. And he likes it.


End file.
